


Closer Than You Think

by Rawrbin



Series: SladeRobin Week 2020 [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, Kidnapping, M/M, Missing Persons, Misunderstandings, slight case fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27245128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rawrbin/pseuds/Rawrbin
Summary: The things you do for love.Slade already has his hands full babysitting some rich brat(see: hostage) for a job when Nightwing calls and begs for his help to find a Robin who's gone missing. He really should refuse, but Nightwing has him hopelessly wrapped around his blue-striped fingers. Will he be able to keep an eye on his charge and help Nightwing track down the missing Robin at the same time? And what will happen to Nightwing, who's still dealing with the loss of one brother, if Robin proves impossible to find even for Slade?Written for SladeRobin Week 2020. Day 4: Identity Porn.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: SladeRobin Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984852
Comments: 6
Kudos: 143
Collections: SladeRobin Week 2020





	Closer Than You Think

The things you do for love.

Slade looks down at the sleeping boy in front of him with annoyance. Well, he's not sure if it really counts as sleeping if the reason the boy is sprawled on the concrete floor of the basement is because Slade just injected a large dose of tranquilizers into his neck. Either way, he's unconscious. Now Slade can hopefully get a moment of peace to himself. He has to cover all his bases first though. Slade isn't going to underestimate this kid again - he's giving him the works this time. 

Leaning down he forces the kid's hands into fists, the fingers folding easily in his unconscious state, and secures them into tight cloth bags. The brat had proven to be unusually adept at lock picking, even somehow breaking out of Slade's most secure metal cuffs. This time Slade wraps thick leather ones around his wrists, securing the bags in place and ensuring that nothing short of a miracle will get the kid out. He chains them around a sturdy pipe and tugs a few times just to check. Satisfied that the kid won't be going anywhere he moves on to the boy's feet. Cover all the bases. A normal civilian shouldn't need this level of restraint but apparently this child was unnaturally slippery. He reminds Slade of a young Nightwing. His little bird had been equally difficult to keep in one place back when he was Robin. Slade had been forced to resort to manipulation rather than physical restraints. He should feel guilty about having treated his now-lover like that, but he can't regret any course of action in his life that has ended up with Nightwing being his (even if this type of relationship hadn't even been on his radar way back then. Robin had started as nothing more than a potential candidate for his apprentice). 

He secures the kid's ankles to another pipe and the boy is pulled taught across the floor, stretched between them. Standing up he admires his work for a moment. He would feel more guilty if the kid hadn't spent the past few days being a huge pain in his ass. 

This is what Slade gets for trying to go straight. Or straight-ish. Kidnapping children to be held for ransom isn't exactly on the up and up, but it was better than killing people - at least on the Nightwing scale of morality. 

Slade hasn't adopted the Bat's moral code yet. Fuck that. The mercenary still has no problem with killing. But for the sake of keeping his little bird pleased he's been taking _less_ hit contracts. Only those who he thinks really deserve it. And those that won't interfere with any of the Bats' work. Any hits in Gotham or Blüdhaven are strictly off limits. 

Instead he's been forced to take on other work - hence how he's now been reduced to the role of babysitter for a rich kid who's apparently really good at picking locks. 

And whose parents apparently don't give a shit about him. 

Slade had been promised this would be a one day job. Kidnap the kid, keep him safe while his employer "negotiates" with the parents, return the kid once they cooperate. Easy money. He's now on day four and had received yet another text through his burner phone that his employer needed him to keep the kid longer. The parents weren't accepting the terms the way his employer wanted apparently. Slade doesn't know the details. He didn't want to know. All he required was the info needed to complete his part of the job. He doesn't give a shit about whatever harebrained scheme his employer has about blackmailing the two industrialists into some kind of shaky business merger. As long as he gets paid he's satisfied. 

The ringing of his cellphone (the private one, not the burner) pulls him out of his annoyed musings and testing of the bonds. Turning away from the kid he looks down at the name on his caller ID. Nightwing. Something cold curls in his gut. His lover knows he's on a job. Slade gives his full attention to his work, regardless of whether it's pulling off an untraceable hit or an untrackable kidnapping. Nightwing wouldn't be calling unless there was an emergency. 

As he presses the answer call button and brings it to his ear he hopes that he's wrong. Maybe his little bird is just horny after being denied several days longer than Slade originally promised him and is looking for a booty call. Honestly Slade wouldn't mind it right now - his eyes slide sideways to the kid on the floor - if this job wasn't proving to need more of his attention than he originally bargained. 

"Little bird, to what do I owe the pleasure?" 

"S-slade…" 

Not a booty call. Definitely not a booty call. Slade can tell by the blubbery sound of his lover's voice that he's been crying. A sound Slade's unfortunately all too familiar with. He blames the Bat. 

"What happened?" 

Slade speaks sharply and clearly. Nightwing needs order and direction when he's like this in order to prevent himself from drowning in his emotions and self guilt. 

"It's Robin." 

Slade can hear sniffles. He waits for Nightwing to elaborate but when he doesn't Slade prompts him. 

"What about Robin? What happened?" 

"He's m-missing." 

Another sniff. Slade's stomach twists again but he keeps his voice steady for his little bird's sake. 

"I'm sure he will turn up soon. That kid's damn resourceful." Slade tries to sound reassuring even though he doesn't know any details of the situation. He does know that Nightwing has reason to be hypersensitive to the issue of missing Robin's though. Slade needs to help him keep calm. 

"No. Slade, he's… he's been missing for _days._ Me and B, we've been looking everywhere, we haven't stopped looking, we can't find any clues. N-nothing. There's nothing. Not a trace. H-he's gone, Slade."

Slade can hear the panic and hysteria beginning to rise in his lover's voice. 

"Little bird…" Slade isn't sure how to comfort him. He's not the type to make fake promises. From what Nightwing has described things don't sound good. As much as Slade loathes the Bat, he will give credit where credit is due and admit that he does have formidable sleuthing skills. If even he hasn't been able to find anything… it doesn't look promising. 

"You'll help Slade, won't you? Please. I need your help." Nightwing sounds desperate, crazy, and sleep deprived. 

"Little bird, I'm working. Plus, you know the Bat doesn't like me meddling in his affairs-" 

"I don't care! This is my brother goddammit. You have resources! Connections that we don't have access to. You can help, Slade. Please, you have to. I don't care what Batman says, all I care is that Robin is safe. If he.. if he… I can't take that again, Slade, please. Help me find him." 

There's really no choice. Slade knows he's right. Nightwing can't handle another loss, even with Slade there to help pick up the pieces. And while Slade couldn't care less about the Bat and his brood, Nightwing has him hopelessly wrapped around his blue-striped fingers. 

"Okay little bird. It's okay. I'm coming. Meet me on the roof of the Gotham Grinders club in an hour." 

Nightwing mumbles a confirmation and they hang up. 

Sighing Slade turns around and looks at his charge. If he were to honor the contract he's being paid for he should be keeping constant watch over the kid. Helping Nightwing trumps any other obligations though. The drugs should keep the kid under for another hour or two at least, and even if he wakes up he shouldn't be able to escape this time, not with all the countermeasures Slade has in place now. It should be fine to leave him for a bit. 

Testing the bonds once more Slade reaffirms the decision. Securing his weapons he climbs out of the safehouse basement and heads towards Gotham City. 

Gotham Grinders was one of the shadiest strip clubs in the city. Even shadier than the establishment itself is the secret backroom where suspicious figures met to exchange tips. Slade wasn't a huge fan of strippers (he prefers lovers who gave their affection willingly, not for money) but a lot of big players frequented the establishment for the "entertainment". It was a hotbed of gossip and Slade had gotten his fair share of tips here in the past. It was as good a place as any to start. 

He meets Nightwing on the roof first to rendezvous. The vigilante's mask does nothing to hide the fact that he's dead on his feet. Slade longs to reach out and hold him - he looks like he's about to collapse both physically and mentally. They don't give their affection out openly though, even on dark rooftops. You can never know for sure who's watching, and a love affair between Nightwing and Deathstroke would cause trouble in both of their lines of work.

"When's the last time you've slept?" he asks. He gets a half shrug in return. 

"What's the plan? What are we doing here?" 

" _We_ aren't doing anything, little bird. _I'm_ going in to talk to people and see if I can get some intel. You just wait here. Or maybe go home and catch a nap. You look like you need it," Slade calmly explains with only a hint of patronization. Nightwing explodes. 

"I'm not just going to sit around and do nothing while my brother is God knows where with who knows what happening to him! I'm going with-" 

"Little bird," Slade cuts him off, trying to placate the younger man, "you're going to stand out like a sore thumb in there. That lot doesn't take kindly to strangers and even less so to vigilantes. You making an appearance is a surefire way to get everyone to clam up immediately. So unless you're planning to go undercover as a stripper…" 

Slade trails off. The image of Nightwing as a stripper is actually rather appealing. Of course, he'd probably have to shoot anyone who laid eyes on his little bird when dressed up like that. He's not partial to sharing. It's a good idea to bring up in the bedroom though, once they find Robin and Nightwing is back to his usual snarky, sexy self.

At Slade's words Nightwing visibly deflates in front of him. He runs a hand through his hair and grips so tight that Slade thinks he must have created a bald patch. 

"I-" his body shudders like it's taking all of his effort to hold on right now, "I can't do nothing…" 

It comes out soft, like a quiet plea. Slade again longs to reach out to him, potential audience be damned. He has another idea to comfort this little bird though. 

"Here," he says. He holds out his tablet to Nightwing. The other man looks at it apprehensively. 

"What's this?" he asks, but he accepts it, pulling the device close to study it. 

"Before I left I posted online, checked with some underground networks, asking if anyone knew about Robin's location. You keep this while I'm inside, I need you to check if anyone replies." 

Slade leans over to unlock the screen. In reality sitting here staring at the tablet isn't going to make his contacts reply any faster, and it's already set up to alert him automatically if a reply does come. It gives Nightwing something to do though, an excuse, however feeble, to convince him to wait on the roof. With any luck Slade can coax him to sit down while he waits. It's obvious the vigilante needs to rest. 

Nightwing agrees to stay with the tablet, but ultimately refuses Slade's suggestion to sit down. He claims he needs to keep surveillance over the establishment. As if Robin's kidnapper is going to waltz up to the place with a big sign on his back saying "I took your little brother!". Slade isn't even positive that he'll get any useful intelligence here. He doesn't mention that to Nightwing though, just scales the fire escape and circles round to the front of the building before popping inside. 

He didn't bother to change out of his Deathstroke gear. This isn't the kind of place where something like that matters. The bouncer gives him a _look_ but he just nods him in without asking for ID. Whether that's because he remembers Slade from his previous visits or because he's learned by now that men like Slade are not to be messed with he isn't sure. 

As soon as he enters the darkened main room his ears are assaulted by loud music and the cheers of plebeian men. To his left Slade sees a rambunctious crowd gathered around the main stage where a vivacious redhead is working the pole. She vaguely reminds him of the alien girl Nightwing used to date. If the alien had had triple d sized obvious plastic implants. 

He doesn't bother giving more than a moment's notice to the crowd though. They were the kind who would be more likely to make it hail than make it rain. The only information he could expect out of that lot was which street vendor sells the cheapest chili-dogs in Gotham. Instead Slade heads directly to the backroom. 

This bouncer spends about five extra seconds giving Slade the once over than his counterpart at the door had, but he likewise moves aside quickly. Pushing through the thick drapes Slade enters the much more _well stocked_ backroom of the club. This is where the real high rollers are. 

Instead of a group of men clamoring around a stage with one dancer, almost all the men sitting around the lounge have a performer of their own either on the table in front of them or in their lap. A pretty young brunette sidles up and twists her fingers over Slade's arm but he brushes her off. Ignoring her indignant pout, he stalks through the lounge, surveying, until he finds exactly who he wants. 

Johnathon Lucchese. 

Aka Johnny Slick. Dubbed thus due to his uncanny ability to smooth talk anyone into revealing their secrets. Well, anyone aside from Deathstroke the Terminator. He was a hotbed of knowledge on all things seedy happening in Gotham. 

Bingo. 

Slade settles in next to him on the fake leather sofa where the man is seated. The man doesn't take his eyes off the gyrating booty of the leopard print lingerie-clad stripper shaking it on the table in front of him, but he does acknowledge his presence. 

"Well if it isn't Deathstroke the Terminator. To what do I owe the pleasure?" 

One thing that has always bothered Slade about Johnny Slick is the infuriating confidence the man holds. He always speaks in a way as if he knows something everyone else doesn't. Granted, he probably does, but that fact doesn't make Slade any less capable of snapping his neck with a simple twist of his wrists. Johnny would do well to remember that when speaking to him. Deathstroke the Terminator should be treated with the proper amount of fear. 

"What do you know about Robin?" he asks, getting straight to the point. 

"What about him?" Johnny shrugs, eyes still on the performance in front of him. "He's the Batman's sidekick." 

He says it smugly, as if Slade doesn't already know the most basic pieces of information regarding his query. Slade resists the urge to growl. This is for Nightwing's sake, he reminds himself. He needs to play nice if he wants to get the information. Johnny knows it too, which is why he acts like such a bastard. He knows he can get away with it. What the toothpick man lacks in physical strength he makes up for in secrets. 

"Where is he now?" he asks through his teeth. 

"Right now?" Johnny replies with amusement. A hand reaches up to slap the ass in front of him. Unlike in the main room, here in the lounge no one stops him from touching. "Based on the time I'd say probably out patrolling rooftops with the Batman."

He flashes a gold-lined grin towards Slade, looking at him for the first time since the encounter started. On the table the stripper turns around and starts shaking her tits in Slade's direction. He ignores her, glare focused on the man he needs information from. 

"He hasn't been seen in four days," he informs Johnny, playing his hand. Give information, get information. Johnny doesn't look as surprised as he should though. 

"He's a kid right? Probably had a busy week at school. Lots of homework and all that. It's not unusual for the Bat to be out by himself."

Slade can't give more information. He can't reveal that he's working with one of the Bat's accomplices and therefore that he knows the kid is decidedly _not_ at home doing homework. 

"Let me know if you see or hear anything," he says instead. "I've got a client who's shelling out big bucks to bring the birdy in alive. And he wants him now. You get any intel that leads me to him and there's a cut in it for you. The sooner the intel, the bigger the cut." 

The lie flows easily as Slade had come up with it in his car on the way over. If he was searching for Robin he needed a believable reason. Johnny drinks it up though, gleefully taking in the new bite of information he's been given, even if it's false. The promise of payment seems to make his eyes sparkle as well. 

"I'll keep an ear out," he says through that disturbing gold grin. Slade just slips him a card with his burner number and makes his way out of the lounge without looking back. 

So relieved is he to escape the conversation with Johnny that it's not until he's face to face with Nightwing again today he remembers the gravity of the situation. The vigilante's gaze feels desperate even through the mask, and he looks at Slade as if he's a drowning man who Slade's about to pull from the water. Unfortunately Slade has no life ring to throw him. 

"No one's heard anything, but I put out some feelers. As soon as anyone hears something we'll know." 

Nightwing just nods. His lips are strained as if it's taking his full concentration not to fall apart right now. He reaches out to Slade to hand back his tablet.

"Nothing on here either," he says emotionlessly. So he's back to that stage now. Nightwing is a very emotional person - whether anger or grief he expresses himself in a big way. However he's also very talented at suppressing all of his emotions in order to focus on a mission. Apparently he's gone back to viewing this as "mission."

Slade takes back the tablet, letting a finger brush soothingly across the side of Nightwing's hand as he does so. Nightwing shivers at the touch and pulls his arms back to wrap around himself. Slade knows it should be his arms around his lover.

"We should keep looking," the vigilante says shortly. Slade nods in agreement. 

"I know some more places we can check." 

He goes to pocket the tablet and belatedly remembers the reason he brought it in the first place. 

"Just a minute," he tells Nightwing. He unlocks the device again and switches over to his security camera feed. An image of the basement of his safehouse outside the city fills the screen. The kid is still laying where Slade left him strapped between the two pipes. His eyes are fluttering and his mouth seems to open in a groan. Just waking up then. Those drugs have probably left him with a nasty headache. Of course it's nothing compared to the ones that the kid gave Slade. He should really be there in case the kid tries to escape again, but for now he'll just have to trust his bonds are secure. Nightwing is his priority. Locking the tablet again he finally pockets it. 

"Let's go." 

Five more seedy bars, five more dead ends. Not only has no one seen hide nor hair of Robin in the past few days, but like Johnny Slick it seems that none of them had even been aware the baby bat was missing in action. Every time Slade exits yet another bar with nothing promising to report to Nightwing the man seems to fall apart just a little more. He is getting increasingly shakier, though Slade is unsure if that's stress induced or Nightwing's intentional desperate attempts to keep himself awake. 

For all their efforts they are no closer to finding Robin than they had been before Nightwing recruited his help. On the horizon the sun is beginning to rise. 

"We've done as much as we can for one night, Little bird. Let's get you home," Slade encourages Nightwing in low timbers after delivering the lack of news gained at the most recent bar he's just exited. 

"No!" his lover cries out, shaking his head and jerking away from Slade. "I have to find him." 

"You need rest." Slade tells him firmly. "Even if we find him now you're in no shape for a rescue mission. Be rational." 

He dares to reach out and wrap a hand around Nightwing's bicep, giving it what he hopes is a comforting squeeze even as his words cut sharply. The other man leans into the touch as if it's the only thing that's grounding him, then hangs his head in surrender. It's surprisingly easier than Slade expected. The exhaustion must really be getting to him. 

When they finally make it back to Nightwing's apartment Slade leads him wordlessly into the tiny bathroom and strips the vigilante out of his suit. Deep, dark circles are revealed under his eyes when the domino is peeled away. The outer rims are red and puffy but they are dry. 

"Come on little bird, let's get you cleaned up," he says before pressing a soft kiss to the man's forehead. Nightwing doesn't even react. He just continues standing lifeless and slouched over like a zombie in the middle of the bathroom. 

After getting the temperature to the unpleasant scorching heat that he knows Nightwing prefers, Slade ushers him into the shower under the spray. The man is still absolutely silent. Slade needs to get him to bed quickly before he can drop too deep into a dark headspace. Nightwing has an extremely unhealthy habit of blaming every bad situation on himself. Probably learned that from the Bat. 

When Slade reaches around Nightwing for the washcloth he suddenly finds a heavy body pressed against his as his lover lurches forward, burying his face into Slade's shoulder. Finally, safe under the rain of the shower, the impending storm Slade had been working to prevent all evening is unleashed. Nightwing shakes against him, sobs rocking his body and tears washed away quickly down the drain. Slade embraces his lover, pulling the other man in impossibly closer. He rubs a soothing hand over his back and presses fierce kisses into the man's hair. 

After what feels like an impossibly long time, Nightwing finally slumps against him, too tired and spent to cry anymore. Slade makes quick work of getting his lover clean, rubbing the sudsed-up washcloth harshly over his torso and under his armpits before more gently lathering around his genitals. He doesn't bother washing out his hair. Only the essentials matter for now. After giving himself a quick once over with the cloth as well he rinses them both off and urges Nightwing out of the shower. 

He gets them both toweled off, Nightwing standing by listlessly and letting Slade do as he pleases, and then he's finally coaxing the other man into bed. 

"When was the last time you slept?" he asks again as the younger man shifts against him under the covers. 

For a few moments Slade thinks no answer will come before a quiet "I don't know," is whispered out. He smooths back his lover's damp hair before placing a soft kiss to his forehead. 

"Let me take care of you little bird," he whispers back. 

He snakes a hand down between them and wraps it around Nightwing's soft cock. The other man gasps, hand reaching down to wrap around Slade's wrist. 

"Slade-!" 

"Shush, little bird. It will help you relax. You need to calm down and get some rest. Let me-?"

Nightwing's body remains tense for a moment, his fight or flight response ultra heightened in response to his days without rest. Finally his body goes slack again and he removes his grip on Slade's wrist. 

Slade knows what Nightwing needs, knows exactly how to care for his little bird, because this isn't the first time Slade has seen him act like this. When they'd lost the first Robin (to the Joker, a twisted man even by Slade's standards) Nightwing had been beside himself. Filled to the brim with grief and guilt and then pushed past the edge by Batman's blame, Slade had been the only one his little bird could turn to for comfort. 

Now Batman has lost another Robin. It's clearly taking a toll on Nightwing's psyche. 

Slade's going to force the man to get some sleep in any way he can before the deprivation can do any more damage. His little bird will feel much better once he's well rested. 

He coaxes his lover to fullness quickly, hand moving skillfully over his cock. Slade strokes him in short, even strokes, giving a small twist of his hand each time he drags over the head. Nightwing's arms fly up to grasp at Slade's shoulders, soft groans buried into his collarbone as his hips twist into Slade's touch of their own volition. Between his own legs Slade's cock still hangs soft. As beautiful and erotic as his little bird is, this isn't about pleasure right now. It's about getting the man out of his head long enough for him to fall asleep. 

It isn't long before the hands at his shoulders tighten and Nightwing is spilling over Slade's hand in thick white globs. Aside from sleep Slade can bet the man has been neglecting this bodily function over the past few days as well. 

He presses kisses along Nightwing's jaw as he coaxes the last bits of semen out of him. He doesn't want to move either of them so he reaches around to wipe the mess on the outside of the blanket. They can wash it tomorrow. 

He pulls his exhausted lover in so close that he can feel the rise and fall off his chest against his own. Eventually the breaths begin to even out, and he thinks that he may have finally been successful in getting his lover to sleep. 

"Slade…" 

Maybe not. He should know by now that everything with Nightwing is difficult. 

"What is it little bird? You need to try and sleep for me." 

The sun is well and properly up by now, the cheap curtains not powerful enough to keep light rays from trickling into the corners of the room. They bounce around and catch on his lover's face, accentuating the circles under his eyes and making him look even closer to death. 

"I know," comes the whispered reply. Then a swallow. "I can't. I can't stop thinking about him. What if he's-"

"I know it's hard, but you need to try. Don't think about him right now. Just focus on me here next to you. Focus on resting." 

He strokes a thumb over his lover's jaw, looking down into his haunted face. Slade hates how lost he looks. 

"Can I… can I look at your tablet again?" 

Slade arches an eyebrow at him. 

"Please just. Let me check. In case any messages came. Th-then I'll try to sleep again. I can't sleep if I'm wondering." It sounds like a child bargaining with his parents to move his bedtime back by five more minutes. 

Slade knows that no messages have come. They would have gotten an immediate alert. He knows Nightwing needs something to do to calm him down though, so if it will ease his anxiety he doesn't mind handing it over. He reaches around behind him to pull the thing off the bedside table and dutifully unlocks it without looking as he passes it into the younger man's hands. 

Nightwing freezes when he sees the screen, an unreadable expression snapping onto his face more illuminated by the glowing tablet. 

Did Slade miss an alert somehow? There was no way. Nightwing's eyes scan frantically over the screen for a moment, taking everything in before the unreadable expression transforms into one that Slade is all too familiar with. 

Pure unadulterated rage. 

"What the fucking hell is this?" he screams as he forcibly tears himself from Slade's grasp, sitting up on the bed. His entire body is vibrating with rage as he twists the tablet around to show the screen to Slade, grip so tight the device is liable to snap apart under his fingers. 

It only takes a second for Slade's eye to adjust to the bright glow of the screen. Displayed there in front of him is the security feed. Slade didn't close it after he'd checked in on his charge earlier in the evening. The boy is still strapped between the two poles, but he seems to be awake and struggling against the bonds now. Not that he's getting anywhere. Another new development is the dark spot that stands out extremely visible around the boy's crotch. It has been more than ten hours since Slade had tied him up after all, and despite his annoyance at the repeated escape attempts Slade had been keeping the kid well fed and watered. 

Despite his reasons for taking the job this was not a good look to present in front of Nightwing. Especially a Nightwing who was desperately sleep deprived and overflowing with grief for his own kidnapped brother. 

"Little bird, I can explain-" 

"You can explain? You can _explain_?!" Everyone in the flimsy walled building has surely just been awoken by Nightwing's roar. His brows are furrowed, eyes crazed as he continues to scream at Slade. "How the fuck can you explain this?!"

"Calm down, little bird. It's just a job. He's not hurt. You're the one who wanted me to stop taking hits-" 

" _Just a job?_ What the hell is wrong with you. You. You sick fuck. God. I-I trusted you. And this whole time…" 

"You're being irrational Nightwing. You need to sleep. Once you're rested and thinking straight we'll discuss it. I didn't mean for you to see that, you know I try to keep you out of my work." 

Slade did not expect the punch coming, but his enhanced reflexes combined with exhaustion slowing Nightwing down means that he's able to block it easily. That doesn't stop Nightwing though. The vigilante rains a slew of attacks down on Slade, forcing him to get up off the bed and into a defensive position as Nightwing continues to rage at him. 

"I'm being _irrational_? I've been searching for days. You've been leading me around on a wild goose chase all night. And this whole. fucking. time. You were the one who took him! And you dare to bring me back here... touch me... tell me to calm down... while the whole time you were the one who-" 

The next punch lands on Slade's jaw, the mercenary too shocked to defend any longer as the pieces finally click into place. 

"Timothy Drake is Robin?" he asks, staring into Nightwing's eyes. 

Nightwing stares back, eyes filled with fire. He's panting heavily but his body seems finally stilled by exhaustion, adrenaline burst running out. No reply comes, but the silence is affirmation enough. 

Suddenly everything makes sense. The oddly knowing and hateful looks the boy had given him when he'd first awoken in Slade's basement. The multiple escapes that a normal boy shouldn't have been able to pull off. That black mop of hair that seemed so familiar. He'd thought it just reminded him of a young Nightwing, but it was actually the current Robin that it had so closely resembled. Because it was him. 

Fuck. 

Slade had fucked up big time. 

"I didn't know," he croaks out. Nightwing has to believe him. He's not losing his little bird. Not over this. "I promise you. I was hired to kidnap the Drake's son while my employer made negotiations with them. You're the one who- I was trying for you, little bird. It's not a hit. I was just keeping him for a few days. He's not harmed." 

Slade hates how desperate he sounds. It's unbefitting of Deathstroke the Terminator. This is what Nightwing has done to him though. All those years ago Slade had been determined to shape Robin into his perfect apprentice, but now he's the one here wrapped around Nightwing's little finger and desperate for his approval. 

"Take me to him. Now."

That's the only response he receives and there's no choice but to obey. 

Relief and confusion flash across Timothy Drake's face when Nightwing, out of costume, charges down into the basement behind Slade and goes for his bonds. This is followed by obvious embarrassment when his older brother pulls him in for a deep hug and he's reminded of the wet spot on his pants. Flushing he wrestles out of Nightwing's tight grasps and curls in on himself to try and hide it, as if it hadn't been on full display the entire time they were untying him. Nightwing had already seen it on the camera as well, and he hands a bag of clean clothes to his brother. 

Twin glares stab into Slade's back as he leads the boy to a bathroom (one of the nice ones upstairs, not the half finished one in the basement with no hot water that the boy's been forced to use for the past few days). He and Nightwing make their way to the kitchen then, the younger man silently still fuming. Slade busies himself with a pot of coffee. Only the sound of the shower running fills the room. 

Brown liquid life trickles down through the filter. 

Nightwing leans against the counter, jaw tight and arms crossed. It's a miracle the man is still standing. His energy must be coming from pure spite. 

Slade pours coffee into a mug, only filling it half way before topping it off with milk and far too much sugar. Exactly how Nightwing prefers it. He slides it across the island counter as an offering. Nightwing just glares at it. 

"I'm sorry." 

Those two little words visibly startle Nightwing. His eyes flicker up from the coffee to meet Slade's face, anger waring with surprise. Slade can't remember the last time he's said those words to anyone, even his little bird. He's not the type to apologize, because he's also not the type to believe he's ever in the wrong. He still doesn't believe he was wrong to take the contract, but his actions had caused his lover pain, however unintentional it was. 

Tanned hands wrap around a coffee mug and pull it up to his mouth to take a sip. No words are forthcoming, but the acceptance of the drink is a good start at least. Slade turns to pour himself a mug, just for something to do while he waits for his lover to decide whether or not to forgive him. 

"No." 

Slade pauses with his hand on the coffee pot handle. He arches a questioning eyebrow at Nightwing. 

"None for you. You leave the rest for Tim. It's the least you can do after everything." 

There's still nearly a full pot, far more than a preteen could ever hope to drink, but he's not going to argue when Nightwing has finally decided to speak to him. He sets the pot down and turns back towards his lover, accepting this petty punishment. 

Nightwing takes another long sip of his coffee, then brings the mug away from his lips with a refreshed sigh.

"Say it again."

Slade doesn't need to ask what he means. 

"I'm sorry." 

His eyes meet Nightwing's as he repeats the phrase, trying desperately to convey his sincerity with his gaze. Nightwing's eyes flicker down to the coffee mug again before back up to Slade. 

"You really didn't know?" 

"I swear. I wouldn't do that to you little bird." 

"But you would do it to Tim's parents," his lover cuts in sharply. Slade is forced to come to his own defense again.

"His parents knew who was responsible for him missing and how to get him back. They were the ones who chose not to cooperate." 

"You mean they wouldn't give in to blackmail." 

"I mean they didn't seem to be in a big rush to get their kid back."

Nightwing grimaces. 

"Don't mention that to Tim." 

"I wasn't planning on it." 

A silence falls over them again. Nightwing sips on his coffee thoughtfully while Slade simply stands there and watches him. Outside of the rural safehouse he can hear the crowing of a distant neighbor's rooster. He briefly imagines what it would have been like to spend the past four days here with Nightwing enjoying the quiet peace of the country together instead of playing babysitter to his escape-artist little brother. He wonders if he'll ever get to enjoy Nightwing's company again or if this will leave him in his bad graces forever. 

The sound of the shower stops and he knows he doesn't have much time left before Nightwing whisks his little Robin away, leaving Slade here all alone. 

"I'll make it up to you." 

He breaks their silence with the promise. When Nightwing's eyes flicker back up to his, he can see the warmth in them that means he's going to let Slade try. 

"It's going to take a long time. And a lot more lattes." 

Because when it comes down to it, his little bird is just as hopelessly in love as he is. 


End file.
